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REM I N ISC ENCES 

BY L ADDA NICHOLS B1GELOW 




REMINISCENCES 



BY 
L. ADDA NICHOLS BIGELOW 



Every human heart holds in 
possession some cherished " Y ester days 




DENRICH PRESS 
Chula Vista, California 






Copyright 1917 

by 

L. Adda Nichols Bi&elow 



io\ 






JUL 26 1917 © ?95 8 



REMINISCENCES 



r 



To the memory of Levi Bigelow, 
companion and friend, whose noble, 
philanthropic life has been a blessing 
to many, these Reminiscences are most 
lovingly ana gratefully inscribed. 




The Home by the Mill, Port Henry, New York 




REMINISCENCES 

Part One 

~'N the foot-Kills of the 
Adirondacks; on a broad 
veranda, looking, out on 
Lake Champlain; on the 
wonderful Lighthouse; on 
the old Forts, and across 
to the Green Mountains of 
Vermont; on the little boats that dot the 
Lake and Bay; on the beautiful Steamer 
Vermont as it plows the waters on its 
regular daily trips; I am spending the 
quiet summer days of 1915. 

Often I am drifting away to scenes of 
the past; for distances are nothing, in an 
easy chair and a balmy breeze, with the 
sing,in£ of birds for company. And so 
I am jotting, down a few reminiscences 
of a somewhat uneventful life. 

After more than fifty years of occa- 
sional verse-making, and after casting 
away at least one fourth considered as 



N X 



REMINISCENCES 

too childish or immature for preserva- 
tion, I find my mind &oing, back to the 
early days and to some of the incidents 
that impelled those simple productions. 
We were obliged to write composi- 
tions and read them before the school 
on certain Friday afternoons. One teach- 
er, though not considered cross, carried 
an habitual scowl on his face, and seldom 
smiled. On one of these occasions when 
I was called upon to produce my effort 
I had written a few verses, and how I 
ever dared venture to read them I don't 
know, but I did. I recall the following 
lines: 

OUR SCHOOL 

Of course you have heard of our pleasant 

school, 

And nearly all it does suit; 
For the scholars try to obey each rule 

That is &iven by Mr. Clute. 

The first rule that was laid down, 

To whisper we must not; 
For it is not an agreeable thing, 

To have whispering in this pleasant spot. 



REMINISCENCES 

And the second is g,ood order; 

One that is very easy kept; 
And if we have our mind on it 

We need not that forget. 

The third one is more difficult, 

And that's composition writing; 

There are many pleasant things about school, 
But that's not very inviting. 

There's another about as difficult, 

But it's one he often repeats, 
For we like to see what our neighbor is doing,, 

And we turn about in our seats. 

And we, like all scholars in school, 

Very often make mistakes; 
And we trouble the teacher considerable 

By the rattling of our slates. 

We have a pleasant school; 

We learn to multiply, add, and subtract; 
If the teacher has a natural scowl, 

He is none the worse for that. 

Now as you are listening, and waiting, with 

fear, 

And dreading, your time to come, 
Just think with what fear Adda's up hert 

And wishing, herself at home. // 



REMINISCENCES 

I was told afterward the teacker ac- 
tually smiled. 

I shall never forget one happy school- 
day in the spring,; the day I purchased 
"Wood's Object Lessons in Botany." 
When I went home at noon I told my 
father I wanted the book, and he g,ave 
me a bright, crisp one dollar bill. With 
flying footsteps I went around to the 
Post Office, the only place in the village 
where they sold books, and bought the 
treasure. How proud I felt, and rich 
too — as I wended my way to the school- 
house on the hill — to be the possessor 
of such a mine of wealth. I surely in- 
tended to keep that book, if no others 
of my school-books, and did for many 
years; then somehow it was lost; and 
with no amount of searching, could it 
be found. Have not quite ceased to 
mourn for it. 

Another memory comes of an old 
white horse named Pete; driven by a 
crazy master who was for years con- 



REMINISCENCES 

sidered harmlessly insane; tut finally 
was sent to an asylum, where after 
many years he died. The old white 
horse was the subject of another youth- 
ful effusion: 

OLD PETE 

He laid him down one summer ni&ht, 
And as the moon shone clear and bright 
He bade farewell to mortal sig,ht. 

With solemn faces they du& him a &rave, 
And in it they laid him for they could not 

save 
Poor old Pete, though so faithful and brave. 

"Been a &ood horse" he "couldn't complain;" 
Said his crazy master waving his cane, 
Such curious fancies were in his brain. 

Sleep on, old Pete! thy rest shall be unbroken; 
And o'er thy head not a cruel word be spoken. 
We'll keep these few lines of thy memory a 

token. 



&&b\ 



REMINISCENCES 

What tender memories come of dear 
Grand River! when we frolieed on the 
bridge that spanned the broad stream; 
when we played and strayed along, its 
banks in the sunny days of childhood, 
g,atherin& wild flowers, and thorn-apples 
in their season; and visiting, the Indians 
in their wigwams as they camped along, 
the shore; watching, them weave their 
baskets to sell to the inhabitants. These 
scenes all come back ag,ain while dream- 
ing, in my easy chair on a summer after- 
noon. 

We all know that childhood is not 
without its sorrows; and my first one 
was in the death of a schoolmate, a 
sweet little £irl of ten years, named 
Mary Holmes. I £ave expression to my 
g,rief in rhyme. Mary's father heard of 
the little poem and wished to see it. I 
was told, as he read it, the tears rolled 
down his face — even at the simple lines 
— I was about twelve years old at this 
time. 



REMINISCENCES 



MARY HOLMES 

O Mary, dear Mary we miss thee! 

As we father day by day 
In the school-room now so lonely, 

Because there is one that's away. 

How often do we think of thee 

As we look at your vacant seat; 

How well do we remember 

Words you used to repeat. 

As time rolls on we miss thee; 

And your kind and gentle ways 
Will never be forgotten 

By your school-mates in their plays. 

The days are sad and lonely; 

And time moves slowly on; 
Because there is one that's not with us, 

Our darling Mary is &one. 



^V 



REMINISCENCES 

It was quite a common thing, in my 
childhood days to see people moving, 
long, distances in white covered wag,ons. 
It seemed to me it must be very enjoy- 
able; as I imagined their journeying 
through pleasant woods; their fires by 
the road-side to cook their meals; the 
awakening, by the birds in the early 
morn from their slumbers in the white 
covered wag,on; the varying, scenes a- 
lon£ the way, so that the interest never 
waned. And often did I wish that my 
father would sell out and we could join 
the number of movers in a white cover- 
ed wa^on. But the experience was never 
mine. After more than fifty years I 
wrote of my childish ambition in a 
poem entitled "The White Covered 
Wa&on," and with that poem and others 
have entertained many g,atherin£s. 

Ten years of my early life passed 
happily alon£ — from the a&e of six to 
sixteen — by the banks of dear Grand 
River in the little village of Saranac, 



REMINISCENCES 

Michigan, — having, come there from 
Ionia, Michigan, my birth-place, when 
six years old. Some of the pleasures 
and pastimes of these ten years are 
briefly reviewed in the poem "Saranac, 
Fifty Years A&o." 

In 1875 my first volume of poems, 
"The Traveler and Poet," was printed. 
In my final collection, in 1914, of what 
I call my complete poems "From Sea to 
Sea," a selection of only six of these 
early poems are published. While all of 
the Temperance poems written for and 
read on public occasions and some on 
other subjects are left out; being, only of 
local interest and for that time. 

In 1882 "Eastward -Bound" was 
printed. 

In 1888, a little illustrated booklet 
was printed entitled "Chimes of the 
Months." 

The mechanical part was certainly 
well done; and whether deserved or not, 
the Author received many compliments 



REMINISCENCES 

for the thoughts it contained. In 1900 
my longest poem, "Delphine," was 
written; and that with others was pub- 
lished the following, year in 1901, as 
"Delphine and other Poems." In 1910 
a small book of twenty-five "Sonnets" 
was published. 

In 1911 an Indian romance of south- 
ern California was written, entitled 
"Fanita and Carriso." 

Much careful thought was put in 
these productions of later years; and 
the writer wishes they were better; but 
it is a satisfaction to know that they are 
loved by her friends. 

The years 1865-1869 were spent in 
Charlotte, Michigan. It was while there 
that the youn£ writer first had the 
pleasure of seeing a few of her poems 
in print in the county newspaper. 

In 1869, our family moved to Nash- 
ville, Michigan; the place destined to be 
my home for many years. I contributed 
poems at short intervals for several years 



REMINISCENCES 

to the "Michigan Christian Advocate," 
and to other papers and magazines. 

My poems are my biography; for so 
much of my life is woven in them, un- 
conciously hut naturally so. In the 
meantime wrote some short prose arti- 
cles, also some comic papers on "The 
Goshenville Sewing Society," which 
were eagerly taken and published week- 
ly in our home paper; and with my sis- 
ter wrote a few short stories; and happy 
were the hours we spent together en- 
&ag,ed in this work. 

Have traveled much from north to 
south, from east to west across the con- 
tinent; but never abroad, only in books. 

For a few years made my home in 
southern California, by the broad Pacific, 
and the Harbor of the Sun. Now am 
alternating, between two homes; one still 
there, and the other on the shore of 
beautiful Lake Champlain. 

But to Nashville — fair village of the 
vale — where the heat of the day, the 



REMINISCENCES 

noontide of life and its afternoon here 
spent; where the most of life's work 
was done; where our greatest sorrows 
were met, and dearest friendships made; 
the sacred spot where this body, by the 
side of father and mother, will be laid 
to rest when this earthly life is over, I 
would a loving, tribute bring,. 

It was here my short experience in 
school teaching, was followed by many 
years of mercantile business; and over 
the counter, ah me! how much of the 
fabric of life was woven; how much of 
the mingling with others; and of the in- 
fluence of those years who can tell the 
extent! 

The four years of study in the "Chau- 
tauqua Literary and Scientific Circle" 
have left a bi£, bright spot in my 
memory. The Circle is broken; some 
have made homes elsewhere and some 
are in the land where the brightness 
never £rows dim, and where there is no 
cause for regret. 



REMINISCENCES 

We are lingering, a little while in the 
twilight and listening, for the nearer call 
of voices over there. 



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REMINISCENCES 

Part Two 

N the quietude of the 
mountains in dear old 
Vermont, listening to the 
music of the brook flowing, 
down the mountain side 
and sinking, through the 
valley below, while the 
speckled trout are shining, beneath its 
surface, and the birds in the branches 
above sinking, with all the joyfulness of 
a June day, I am lingering, for a little 
while after the return from another few 
months in our western home by the 
Harbor of the Sun; and where a £reat 
sorrow came to me, but gladness to 
him* when suddenly in the brightness 
of an earthly morning he stepped into 
the gjory of the eternal morning; from 
earthly pleasures that fade, to heavenly 
pleasures that fade not; from friends 

*Levi Bi&elow— December 22, 1915 



REMINISCENCES 

here to friends over there; from wear- 
iness to rest. 

With a cheery smile and no word of 
farewell, he met his Pilot face to face 
and vanished from our si^ht. So closely 
does g,rief follow the footsteps of joy! 
and in the morning sunlight the day 
darkened. 

But faith sees through the shadows 
that it is but a little way from here to 
there. With sad hearts, but with pleasant 
memories of a noble life, we are looking, 
up. 

Blest with the companionship of his 
children — and mine; for they have given 
themselves to me to be my "very own" — 
what a rich inheritance is mine. 

Often my thoughts g,o back to the 
sunny south-land of the western coast; 
to the loved ones there whom we hope 
soon to join ag,ain; and to the &reat 
Exposition where nations vie with each 
other in their magnificent productions 
made brilliant in the setting, of nature's 



REMINISCENCES 

indescribable beauty in a tropical clime; 
of trees and shrubs, flowers and vines, 
winding paths and glorious canyons; the 
sun-kissed Bay and the mighty Sea. 
And there smiles San Die^o! 

THE MOCKING BIRD 

The trill, the call, the jubilee, 
And all sweet-song,s he sing,s to me; 
Rich melodies that o'er and o'er 
Are wafted through the open door. 

And oft the thrilling notes of cheer 
Upon the midnight air ring, clear; 
The day's too short to quite express 
All his flowing, happiness. 

O mocking bird ! dear mocking bird ! 
Gathering all that thou hast heard, 
And weaving in a medley &rand, 
That all who love thee understand. 



SS# 




REMINISCENCES 

Part Three 

ISTENING and waiting — 
by the sunset Sea! In the 
distance is heard the low 
hoarse whistle of an in- 
coming, ship as it enters 
the Harbor and rounds 
into port. With the joy of 
anticipation written on their faces the 
passengers disembark; and friends on 
the shore with ea&er eyes single out 
their own and g,ive welcome greeting,. 
The gjory of the sunset shines out 
upon the water; the sky is mirrored in 
its depths; the birds are sin£in£ their 
£ood-ni^ht song, of faith; and He who 
cares for them will care for us. 

Thus the days come and g,o; and I am 
listening and waiting — by the sunset 
Sea. 

Retrospection and anticipation — the 
backward and the forward look — the 



REMINISCENCES 

past of yesterday and tke future of to- 
morrow are clasping, hands across to-day. 

Pleasant memories come; and I am 
picking, up the threads and filling in, 
though disconnectedly, that which was 
left out of my first Reminiscences. 

There comes to me one Sunday morn- 
ing in the old home church in years 
lon£ g,one by when a dove flew in at 
the open window and remained through 
the service. It made a solemn impression 
on the congregation; more so, as it was 
soon after the beloved Pastor of the 
church had passed away. 

That afternoon I wrote a poem on the 
incident, "A Dove in Church." The min- 
ister who supplied the pulpit that day, 
Rev. Winfield Scott Sly, was then travel- 
ing, in the interest of orphan children; in 
which work he accomplished much g,ood; 
for many a homeless child — and some- 
times worse than homeless — found a 
home and loving, care under his super- 
vision. A few years afterward he a^ain 



REMINISCENCES 

visited our village, and spoke in the same 
church. He referred to the incident of 
the dove, and also said he had seen my 
poem in his travels, copied in papers in 
many different states. He then asked the 
people who were present on that Sunday 
a few years before to raise their hands; 
and many hands were raised. 

Sometime after this there was a like 
occurrance in another place. It was re- 
ported to the "Christian Herald," and he 
replied to it, and reported his experience 
in my home church. 

I reproduce his letter here: 

To the Editor of "The Christian Herald." 

Dear Sir: In your issue of December 24, 
I read with much interest the article, "A 
Dove in Church." I had a similar expe- 
rience on December 12, 1886. 

After five years' suffering with nervous 
prostration, I had so far recovered as to 
venture to supply the Methodist Episco- 
pal pulpit in Nashville, Mich. The pastor 
had just died, after a short illness. On 



REMINISCENCES 

Sunday morning, I entered the pulpit, 
grateful for an opportunity of once more 
preaching, the blessed Gospel, and yet 
fearful of the results, as the physician's 
warning was ringing, in my ears. 

Just before the service beg,an, the young, 
widow and four lovely children of the 
deceased pastor entered the church and 
were seated in their family pew. Many 
heads were bowed, and many eyes were 
moist with tears of sympathy as they en- 
tered. 

Just as I arose to announce the first 
hymn, a dove lighted on the top sash of 
the window at my left, which was lower- 
ed for ventilation. It rested a moment, 
cooing, softly. A thrill of astonishment 
ran through the larg,e audience, and the 
mournful cooing, of the dove added to 
the emotions awakened by the sigjit of 
the afflicted family. It was with difficulty 
the choir and people could sing,. During, 
the singing, the dove flew into the church 
and circled over the heads of the people, 
and aligjited on the platform at the left 
of the pulpit, its continued cooing blend- 
ing, with the sinking,. Many thought it 
an omen. 



REMINISCENCES 

My attention had been arrested by the 
beautiful design of a dove with out- 
stretched wing,s, in the larg,e colored g,lass 
window in the front of the church, and 
I referred to it while reading the scrip- 
ture lesson of "Christ's baptism and the 
descent of the Holy Ghost." The presence 
and cooing of the dove added a new sig- 
nificance to the occasion and the reading, 
and I closed the reading with the remark: 
"May the Holy Spirit's brooding presence 
be enjoyed by each of us as emblemed in 
yonder window, and taught in this lesson, 
and illustrated by this living dove that 
soared about our head and abides in our 
midst." 

During the remainder of the service 
the dove remained quietly on the plat- 
form, occasionally turning its head, to 
look up into my face. When the last 
hymn was announced, and the congrega- 
tion arose to sing, the dove spread its wing,s 
and soared over the heads of the congre- 
gation and alighted on one of the pulpit 
chairs. After the hymn was finished, and 
while pronouncing, the benediction, I felt 
the fanning, of the dove's wings, as it 



REMINISCENCES 

gently flew and alig,hted on my shoulder. 
As I finished the benediction, and the 
people turned to leave the church, the 
dove sprang from my shoulder on to the 
pulpit Bible, and, softly cooing,, watched 
the people pass out. 

A little girl just entering for Sunday 
School came forward, and took the pet 
down in her arms and carried it away. 

A lady present, possessing, fine poetic 
gifts, made the incident the subject of a 
beautiful poem, embodying, the main 
features and their lessons, which at the 
time was published in the local paper and 
extensively copied. 

Rev. Winfield Scott Sly 



3si?S\ 



REMINISCENCES 

I am a g,reat admirer of Phillips Brooks. 
When on a visit to Boston about the 
time he was made Bishop, my friends 
told me they thought he was out of the 
city that Sunday. I was disappointed 
not to see and hear him preach, of 
whom I had heard and read so much, 
and whose writings I had so much en- 
joyed. Imagine how my disappointment 
was increased when we learned by the 
paper the next morning that he was in 
the city, and preached in his church, 
Trinity Church, and I mig,ht have heard 
him. We afterward visited the church, 
hut saw not the £,reat Pastor. 

A few lines on his death which were 
unintentionally left out of my last vol- 
ume of poems, but were published in a 
state paper, I &ive on the following, 
pa&e. 



>^^> 



REMINISCENCES 



PHILLIPS BROOKS 

"He is in our hearts but no longer on our streets" 

R. W. Wallace 

Not on our streets, but in our hearts, 
O man, beloved of men! 

No hi&her throne, no broader realm, 
Can any soul attain. 

Thy living thoughts and loving deeds, 
A monument have reared, 

Firm as the everlasting hills, 
And sacredly endeared. 



Ss?^. 



REMINISCENCES 

Memory &oes back; away Lack, and 
sees a little &irl of six years standing 
on the floor in a school-room, book in 
hand, studying a word she missed in 
spelling. 

I was the little £irl, and the word was 
Thomas. Every few minutes the teacher 
would say: "Can you spell it now?" and 
I thought I could; but every time would 
say T-o-m-a-s. My older sister felt very 
sorry for me, and quite indignant at the 
teacher, thinking, the word too hard for 
one so young,. I finally spelled it cor- 
rectly (but as I think of it now my way 
was the more sensible). After I went 
home from school that ni^ht, I was ill 
with what we called "fever and a£ue;" a 
disease quite prevalent in those days. I 
had a chill, then a very hig,h fever; and 
when the fever was rag,in£ I was spell- 
ing, Thomas continually, and spelled it 
correctly every time. My sister was 
terribly frightened, and thought I was 



REMINISCENCES 

&oing, to die; and if I did that teacher 
■would be to blame for it. 

I think spelling, has never been very 
difficult for me since. 

I was very reasonable, even when a 
small child, as seen in the instance when, 
refused a dainty of which I had already 
had my share and was told there was 
only a little left, I said: "I dont want only 
just all there be. 

This is farther back than I can re- 
member, but have often been told of it. 



>«&> 



REMINISCENCES 

We were riding, one summer day, 
my friend and I, alon£ a fine old country 
road long, years ag,o, before automobiles 
were Keard of; so we kad time to "view 
the landscape o'er." We were journey- 
ing, to an old land-mark: "tke old white 
meeting-house." 

Nothing could interest me more. It 
was where my mother attended church 
when she was a g,irl. I had often heard 
her speak of it; and now the wonderf ul 
opportunity was g,iven me to visit this 
sacred spot. 

It was sadly out of repair, not being, 
in use. As we came near my friend said: 
"Would you like to &o inside alone, or 
shall I g,o with you?" and I replied: "I 
think I would like to g,o alone." What 
feelings of awe and strange imaginations 
came over me as I entered this forsaken 
structure, unusually larg,e for a country 
church. There was a wide gallery on 
three sides. At one side of the door 
was the old-fashioned elevated pulpit, 



REMINISCENCES 

readied by a winding, flight of stairs; 
and above it was a "sounding-board" 
something like the shape of an umbrella; 
all strangely new to me. I tell of this 
visit in the poem, "Eastward-Bound." 



REMINISCENCES 
THE HOME BY THE MILL 

4 

I am thinking to-day of wkat seems 
like a dream, because of its brevity and 
its brightness — the gjad days by the 
Mill. 

Aroused from our slumbers by the 
sinking, of birds; our eyes and hearts 
gladdened by the glorious sunrise that 
soon makes a shining path across Lake 
Champlain; why should not our lives be 
attuned to nature's son& and the interests 
of a new day? The busy hours g,o by. 
The teamsters are coming, from the lum- 
ber camps with load after load of lo£s. 
The hum of the varied machinery in the 
mill makes music in the air for the lover 
of business. The piles of newly sawed 
lumber rise like mag,ic; the odor of 
which is as pleasing to those accustomed 
to it as the perfume of a rose. Activity 
marks the days at the Mill, which are 
never monotonous; and when the sun 
slants toward the west and the workmen 



REMINISCENCES 

return to their Homes, and the tired 
horses to rest and to faithful care and 
fodder, the little family circle in the 
home by the Mill fathers around the 
table for the evening, meal; the time 
when home and family ties seem closest 
and dearest; the business world shut out 
and for a time forgotten, while seclu- 
sion and happiness &uard the bright 
home fire; the hour passes in sprightly 
conversation; and "our boy" is never 
too tired to relate some newly found 
annecdotes, or interesting, events in the 
world's daily news. 

And so with mirth and g,ood cheer; 
peace and contentment, the day ends — 
and the vision fades. 

No circle e'er can broken be, 
But our poor eyes refuse to see 

The links of &old 
That mingle with the earthly chain; 
For naught is lost, but all is &ain, 

Could Love unfold. 

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